Spread Your Wings, Butterfly
by Altern8Ego
Summary: PAIRE. An AU set at the end of Volume 3. Nathan is dead, and has left behind some shocking news for Claire. Finding out she is not really a Petrelli, what does that mean for her now? And where does it leave her relationship with her Hero and Saviour, when he finds out he's not really her Uncle? Work in progress. Rated M for now.
1. Prologue: Nathan Petrelli

_In the teaser for Volume 4, we see Nathan meeting with someone in a limousine to tell them about the people with abilities, in a attempt to round them all up. In this version of events, it doesn't go to plan._

_xx_

**PROLOGUE: NATHAN PETRELLI**

"I think our only real option at this point is to get the United States Government involved." Senator Nathan Petrelli reclines comfortably in the back of the black limousine currently known as Cadillac One, seated opposite the President of the United States.

Nathan has, only a moment before, completed a lengthy explanation to the President of the current situation regarding the individuals with abilities; as the President continues to sift through the photographs in the Manila folder Nathan presented to him at the very beginning of their meeting.; each photograph contains a background, and details of known abilities, for people Nathan is aware of who possess these gifts.

"And you are saying all of these people have abilities?" The President asks. He fingers another one of the pages, quickly scanning the information before moving on.

"Them, and more," Nathan says. He pauses briefly before continuing, "A lot more." The President looks up from the file momentarily, and the two men exchange glances in complete silence.

Leaning forward slightly in his seat for effect, Nathan goes in for (what he likes to call) his pre-rehearsed money-shot, "The important thing to remember is how dangerous these people can become, if left unchecked. I had a solution; it proved unsuccessful. It's all there. All the evidence you need."

The President takes a moment to respond, then asks matter-of-factly, "What exactly is it that you are asking to do?"

"I wanna round them up, and put them into a facility where they won't be a danger to anyone," Nathan declares. He watches as the President physically pauses before closing over the folder and handing it back to Nathan.

"You want to imprison them?" The President questions him. Nathan blinks, he hadn't rehearsed this part. He was sure he'd have sealed the deal with his 'no mess-no fuss' explanation of what these beings were capable of. He takes a moment to think of his next move. Like in Chess, one wrong move and it's all over.

"I want to take them off the streets, yes" Nathan agrees. "There are so many dangerous people out there, it seems..."

"There are, Nathan. I'm not going to disagree with you there. But, a man with a rifle is much more dangerous than a man who could, say... breathe underwater, is he not?" The President asks. When Nathan doesn't reply immediately, he changes his question. "Surely a man with a flame thrower could cause as much damage with that weapon, as a man who shoots fire from his hands?"

"Well, yes Sir," Nathan agrees, with a nod. "But these people are extremely dangerous. Some of them are already criminals, some of them are well on the road to becoming one..."

"And some never will be. Will they, Senator?"

Nathan's jaw drops. Check. "Well, I..."

"Are we to determine who causes a threat more than the next person? I mean, suffice to say that a man with Telepathy who can insert thoughts into your mind _could_ make you kill yourself, but then maybe he doesn't abuse his power that way. A woman who can run faster than the eye can see _could_ be a thief, there's no doubting that, but she may never become that way. Are we not a constitution who preaches innocence until proven guilty? Can we lock up average every day people who _look_ like criminals on the basis that they might kill someone one day?"

Nathan sits quietly, already hearing the roar of defeat pounding in his ears. He fidgets with thin air, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together absentmindedly as the President continues his speech.

"Would you like me to get on television in front of millions of Americans, and explain that we may be taking away entire families? That neighbours, or best friends, or partners, might suddenly disappear, and we can't explain to them why? Or is it your plan to tell the people about these abilities? That alone could be catastrophic. The religious zealots would have a field day, people would turn on their closest friends if they found out, because they were never told. A battle for supremacy would begin on our own doorstep. I don't see how you can consider this a good plan at all, Senator."

"Am I to take it that I don't have the support of the United States Government, and your backing, Sir?" Nathan finally asks, already believing he knows what the President is likely to say.

However, the man stuns him further by asking, "you can fly, can you not Nathan?"

Nathan's fists clench and his jaw tightens. Check. Mate. "How did you know about that?"

The President smiles. "I know many things, Senator. Like how your Brother mimics other people's abilities; your mother can tell the future; and your father was a telepath like Matt Parkman in this file here, before he started absorbing the powers of others. Yet, I notice you don't implicate your own family amongst these pages?"

Nathan is stunned. "May I enquire, again, as to how you know these things?"

The President smiles ruefully at Nathan. "Firstly, because Matt Parkman isn't the only Telepath you know. You are sitting with one right now." The President waits for realisation to dawn in Nathan's eyes, before he says, "I can hear your intentions as well as your explanations, and the two don't quite meet in the middle, do they Nathan?"

In an almost tiny voice, Nathan says "you have an ability. You knew about these people all along."

"Well, not exactly," The President explains. He straightens in his seat. "I knew what I could do. I wasn't aware that people around me had other abilities, because not even my closest personal staff know about my ability. I found out there were others when I received a visit from a tall dark-haired man with a scar across his face."

Nathan visibly cringes, and shrinks into the seat further._ Good God!_ "Peter," he growls.

The President nods solemnly, "Your very own brother, Nathan. Peter told me where, and when, he has been. He told me what he saw when he was there. The result of your vendetta against people with abilities is a rather tragic tale. And one, I'm afraid, I will neither agree with, or finance."

Resigned, Nathan slides forward on his seat, picks up the folder and says "Alright, Mr. President. Thank you for your time." As he goes to leave the car, the President catches his arm.

"Nathan." He stops, but doesn't look back. "I know what you're thinking, and it's never going to happen. Continue with this plan and the United States Government _will_ get involved, but it will be to shut you down. Is that clear?"

Nathan grumbles a quick "Yes. Mr. President" with a curt nod before closing the door and walking off.


	2. Chapter One

**CHAPTER 1**

**NEW YORK**

Claire Bennett sits in front of the fireplace in the Petrelli house and stares blankly at the array of college brochures scattered across the Ottoman in front of her. It was her grandmother Angela Petrelli's idea that she begin looking at Ivy League Schools as a starting point for planning her future.

"Well," Angela says with a smile as she enters, owning the room like all the other Petrelli's so often do. Even Peter on occasion, and he's the most docile of the family. She smiles to herself when she thinks of Peter, but it fades quickly as Angela walks over to where Claire sits and stands imposingly over the back of her chair. "Any favourite's yet?"

Claire frowns and sighs, resisting an eye roll at the ridiculous idea that she, Claire Bennett, the Cheerleader who can heal and help people when given the chance, would be considered happy in an Ivy League Environment living a scarily _normal_ life. But this was going on her father's dime, so who was she to argue? "Yeah, I mean, Hamilton; Smith; Georgetown; they're all," she pauses to think of a word, any word that won't betray her distaste for the idea, before adding, "the best schools in the country."

Angela's smile broadens. "Getting your GED was the best thing you could have done," she says, her tone one of pride and encouragement. That was to be expected of a doting grandmother, of course. "An elite education..."

Angela's words are cut short when there is a loud crash from the main hall outside; a sound like the door almost coming off its hinges. Angela's poker-face slides into place as she prepares to see what is causing this racket, and swivels to face the entrance to the sitting room. Claire quickly gets to her feet, her heart pounding in her chest. _Oh god, _she thinks, _what now? I thought this was all over. _Her grandmother's hand on her shoulder silently signals her to stay put, as her she makes her way past Claire and towards the door.

Claire lets out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding as she sees Peter stumble into the doorway, and is about to chastise him for scaring her and his mother nearly to death when she notices blood all over his hands and his Paramedic uniform. A lot of blood. Angela is already halfway across the room, but as Claire takes a step forward, Peter raises his hand to signal his mother to stop. Freezing in place also, Claire stares confusedly at her Uncle, her heartbeat racing once more.

Taking some deep lung-filling breathes, Peter slumps against the doorway, his eyes never leaving his mother's. Finally catching his breath he says, "it isn't my blood, Ma. It's Nathan's..." before finally sinking to the floor seemingly exhausted. _He must have flown here. Was he with Nathan because he's a Paramedic? _ Claire wondered. The boys relationship had been strained these last two months, but surely nothing sinister had befallen her father at the hands of his only brother. Not only would Peter be lost without Nathan, he'd never do such a thing to her.

In a moment Angela is by his side, the information not yet sinking in, checking him over for wounds. "No," she says after seconds that seem to drag on for hours, when the news finally gets through. Claire is still frozen in place, this time through fear. Her grandmother continues, shaking her head, "It can't be true. I dreamt, but I thought I'd... What happened, Peter?"

"Nathan is dead, Ma," Peter says solemnly, a hint of anger burning in his tone. He thumps the doorframe with his fist, leaving a trail of still damp blood on the painted wood. Angela lifts a hand to her mouth and shakes her head in confusion. Peter continues on, as if talking to no one in particular, "I tried my best, but there was nothing I could do. I thought maybe if I..." He stills as he finally notices Claire inside the room behind his mother, and his already anguished face becomes desolate.

With automated movements, her eyes glued to Peter's, Claire takes a step back and sits down in the chair by the fireplace again, listening for more information. Her face is pale, and her hands are shaking, grief already burning at her from somewhere deep inside. She can't take her eyes off him, and for a moment they just sit there staring at one another. _My father is dead,_ she says to herself, _how can this be happening?_

"Who, Ma?" Peter demands, his voice quiet and carrying more rasp than usual. "Who would do this to us? To him? You said you dreamt it, do you _know_?"

Getting to her feet slowly, Angela turns and walks away from Peter. Stepping over to the fireplace, she stares in the sea of flames absentmindedly for a few moments, shaking her head as she relives her dream over again. "I was sure I..."

"Mom?" Peter asks again impatiently. Getting to his feet, he begins to stride towards her. As he is about to pass Claire, she steps out into his path, and with one hand on his bloodless shirt, she looks up at him with big hazel eyes. His eyes burn into hers, and she feels her cheeks turn pink, but she holds her ground. Finally, he nods and visibly relaxes, looking to his mother for the answers he needs.

Angela's voice is calm and resolute, the voice most familiar with her when she is dealing with the business around abilities and the lives they all lead, as she finally answers, "I am afraid I do think I know. And if I am correct, there is nothing to be done."

Claire whirls around to face Angela with astonishment in her eyes. Peter almost walks into the back of her as he edges closer, his body pressed up against her back. She holds steady, knowing her won't walk past her. Wiping a bloodied hand on a clean patch inside his open jacket to clean the blood off, he sighs and runs it through his mussed up hair. "How can you say that, Ma? We can always do something!"

Claire nods in agreement, tilting her head all the way up to look at Peter, then back at her grandmother. "Was it The Company? Or someone like them?" she asks, terrified of the answer. She bunches her hands together in front of her to try to ease the shaking. A second later Peter's arms are around her, holding her to him. She is covered in the blood over his uniform, but she can smell past that to the scent of her Hero, her Saviour, and she uses that comfort to help her process what is about to be said.

"No, and it's out of our hands," Angela says loudly in an authoritative tone that dares either of them to try to talk the situation the other way again. Quietening down, she adds "I'm afraid that this was the work of the United States Government, and we'd have one hell of a job trying to prove that."

Claire feels Peter's body still behind her. "The Government?!" she shrieks. "But Nathan was a Senator, why would they just...?"

"A few weeks ago, " Angela begins, interrupting Claire and looking over her head to address Peter, "your brother went to see the President of the United States. He wanted funding to start afresh, like he'd wanted to when he took over Pine Hearst, and before it burnt to the ground. He had a vision to create a facility to keep people with abilities locked away."

_Locked Away! _Claire shakes her head, but doesn't say anything out loud. Her eyes are cold, and her thoughts confused. Her father wanted to lock people like her, like _himself_ up like caged animals. If she'd found that out any other way, she'd be furious. But how could she be now that he was gone?

"The President refused Nathan's request. The President put up a very good notion against it; he knew Nathan himself had power, and the President is one of us. At the end of their discussion he warned Nathan, should he pursue this elsewhere, that he would have no choice but to get the United States Government involved himself. "

Angela shakes her head before she goes on. "I thought I'd talked him out of it. We had a few discussions, and things seemed to be getting through to him, but he could be stubborn like your father was. I had dreamt he would pursue it, and I did everything I could to stop him. I even thought about putting a bullet in his brain myself just to stop this madness, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. We all need to make sacrifices now and again. However, that didn't happen, and neither it seems did my attempts to deter your brother from his vendetta."

Peter and Claire stand entwined in complete silence, both riveted and horrified by Angela's tale. _What was he thinking?_ The same thing echoing through both their minds.

Snapping out of her fire watching gaze, Angela turns about heel. Her eyes are bloodshot but there are no tears. Tears would likely be a private matter once business was taken care of. "I have phone calls to make. There are arrangements to consider. And I need to let Heidi know."

As Angela heads for the doorway at the back of the room, Claire steps forward to go to her, but Peter releases her only to grab her arm with one hand. "Don't Claire," he says quietly. She opens her mouth to respond, but he lifts a finger to her lips, "This is how Angela Petrelli deals with this kind of thing. So let her do that, then you can go to your grandmother, okay?"

"Okay," Claire says, staring at the floor, and admitting defeat. As the weight of the last few minutes finally takes it's hold, Claire sinks to her knees. Peter sinks with her, cradling her to his body, and for the next hour, all they do is cry and grieve in each other's arms.

xxx

Two days later, Peter is sitting at the dining room table in the Petrelli house, waiting for his brother's lawyer to show up with the details of Nathan's will. Next to him sits Claire, who occasionally keeps slipping her hand over to his for comfort underneath the table. When she does, he turns to look at her, and smiles crookedly through tired eyes. It's been hard on all of them, he knows.

His mother heads the table, with Heidi opposite her, and the boys sitting quietly and patiently opposite him and Claire. The weather outside is bright and cheerful, streaming in the windows seemingly intent on tormenting the family during their state of bewilderment and pain.

Lars Menzies, a tall somewhat stout fellow with a well trimmed beard and immaculately tailored suit, arrives exactly on time. He carries with him a small black briefcase which he places on the table between Peter and Angela, and pulls out a small pile of paperwork.

"Nathan and I talked at length about his wishes, on a regular basis. Running for Senate, he always knew that there were risks involved, and he kept up to date with me on almost everything he owned, changed, or needed amended. I will leave a copy of the document with Nathan's executor, that's his wife, Heidi." Lars looks at Heidi and she nods. He gives her a sympathetic smile, and then continues to disperse the information contained within Nathan's Last Will and Testament.

Finally, as he brings the matters to a close, he pulls a small white envelope from his pocket, and hands it to Claire. She looks at him, puzzled, but takes the proffered envelope from him. Everyone around the table is silent as she reads the front of the envelope and asks Lars, "my father wrote this?"

Lars nods. "He only wrote it a couple of weeks ago, with strict instructions that, on his death, it should be given to you during the reading of his final wishes. I don't know what is in that envelope," he admits, recognising Claire's look as one of curiosity and question.

"Does anyone mind if I take this outside to read in the garden?" she asks around the table. Peter shakes his head and looks around the table, hoping no one else would dare to suggest the girl reads the letter out loud, or in front of a group of people as publicly as this. When no one refuses her right to privacy, she disappears off to the seated area out in the garden.

xxx

Only a few minutes had lapsed when Peter pushes back his chair, and gets up from the table. "I think someone needs to be with Claire. We don't know what that letter is. I am going out to the garden to check on her." He looks to his mother, who nods in agreement, and then leaves the room following Claire's path to the garden.

"Claire?" Peter asks. Popping his head around the French Door to the seated patio, Peter catches sight of Claire and immediately runs to her side. She is sobbing wildly, her hands shaking, with tears streaming down her face. "What the hell, Claire?"

Standing by her side, he moves to put his arm around her in comfort, but she shrugs him off, getting to her feet. "No," she says. "Please don't. I can't... I don't..." She doesn't say anything else, but turns on her heels and runs back into the house, dropping the letter on the patio floor as she leaves. Peter lets her leave, watching her run off. Whatever is in this letter she left for him to read himself has made her need time alone, and he would give her that. _Dammit Nathan, what have you _done_?_

Settling himself into one of the patio chairs, Peter unfolds the handwritten letter, and reads his brother's last words to his daughter:

_Dearest Claire,_

_ Please forgive me for what I am about to tell you, but I thought you had a right to know. I am not your biological father. Meredith was your biological mother, but during the time that she fell pregnant, we weren't sure if it... if you... were mine._

_ My mother was insistent that she arranged all the tests, and I believed then that it was because she feared the disgracing of my father's favourite son. To my surprise, what she said was quite the opposite. Like the lies she told Gabriel Grey, my mother saw the opportunity in bringing another ability into the family. Knowing that one day you would track us down, she edited the results and claimed you as my daughter; setting into motion the events that would guarantee your safety in the care of Noah Bennett._

_ I found out after my trip to see Meredith. The photo she showed me of you... I saw no resemblance to me at all. But to your father? The resemblance is clear as day. I questioned my mother on my return, and she told me the truth. I wanted to tell you sooner, but with everything that has been happening to all of us, you would only have been put into more danger in the long run by being taken from us._

_ The only member of our family who doesn't know the truth is Peter. _

Peter stops. _Everyone knows? _He stares at the letter with complete disbelief in his eyes. Part of him feels anguish for Claire, but another part seems not the least bit surprised by what his mother can be capable of. Shaking his head, he continues.

_ You and Peter are so close, and he makes such a great Uncle; you have given him so much in such a short space of time, and I couldn't be prouder of that fact. It just didn't seem fair to take away the bond that you two shared. _

_ Now, to answer the question that may well be burning in your mind right now; your father, unlike me, was born with natural abilities. He can heal, like you can. His name is Dr. Trevor Hall, and he is from, and lives in, Louisiana. I have supplied all the details you would need to track him down, should you want to._

_ I know I haven't been the perfect father for you Claire, and I've made some really tough and sometimes bad decisions, but hopefully this one, you can agree, I did right. _

_ Lars will already have told you about your inheritance, and should I go before you finish it, my mother will see to your school costs as part of what I left to the Petrelli family. You needn't want for anything, Claire. That I can promise to you._

_ Please, know that I loved you, whether you were my biological child or not. But I know how my family can be, so take the money and get away Claire. Make your own life, and make it a good one. You might not be a Petrelli by blood, but you have our fire. Never let that go. Find who you are and be happy. Spread your wings, Butterfly - it's time to fly._

_ Nathan x_

"Jesus Christ," Peter exclaims, the patio chair scratching loudly off the floor as he gets to his feet. _I need to find Claire. _The thought runs through his brain over and over again as he runs indoors and up the stairs, then begins his search.


	3. Chapter Two

**CHAPTER 2**

**2 DAYS AGO**

Peter sits in the back of the NYFD ambulance and listens to the ambient sounds of New York City all around him. It's been a quiet day; perhaps a little too quiet. The thought makes his skin prickle and his hair stand on end. Behind him a fellow paramedic and friend, Sam, is taking inventory.

"Does it feel too quiet to you today, Sam?" Peter asks eventually, after an extended period of silence between the two.

Sam finishes counting labelled bottles in a small refrigerator pack and zips the pack shut with a satisfied nod before he answers, "I'm glad I'm not the only one thinkin' that, Pete." He checks his watch. "In ten hours I finish up for my vacation though, man. Three weeks in the sun with the wife, and the kids are at Grandma's."

Sam's smile is ear to ear, and Peter can't help but smile back at his friend. He'd only known Sam for a short while, since starting his job as a Paramedic, but already he felt a strong bond between the two men. Sam's wife is a complete knock out, it's no wonder he is ecstatic about whisking her away to some exotic country for a few weeks.

A crackle on the radio alerts Peter to an incoming call moments before a message rings through on the system. "Units 51 and 52, do you copy? We have a..." there is a pause, "...situation on 42nd and 8th. Confirm en-route and ETA?"

Peter looks at Sam and frowns. "We're only two blocks away. Why wouldn't they call us in?" he asks an equally perplexed Sam. Grabbing his radio, he presses the transmit button and leans down to talk into the mic. "Dispatch, this is Petrelli in 56, we are just a few blocks from 42nd and 8th, would you like us to head over there?"

"Negative Petrelli, unit 56 should stay put and await further instruction." Peter stares at his radio in disbelief. _Why would they wait to call us in, when we could be there in minutes?_ he thinks to himself, but his question is answered when a response to one of the other units comes through over the main line in error.

"Understood Unit 51, let us know when you arrive on scene. It isn't looking good. We have a three car accident with the Fire Department on their way. Five women and two men reported at the scene; three drivers, two passengers, a pedestrian who was clipped during the crash, and a wounded Senator. Witnesses believe he may have been shot."

"It's Nathan," Peter exclaims, getting to his feet. "It has to be. _That's_ why they won't send us there. It's my brother; I know it is. We have to get over there!"

"That's not our orders, Petrelli," Sam says to him coolly. Sam stands as well, and the two face each other. Peter glares at his friend, and shakes his head when Sam adds, "We should stay put, Peter."

"This is Petrelli in 56, do you copy? We would like to head to the scene and help," Peter tries again, and shakes his head before the response even comes through, knowing what they are going to say.

"Understood 56, but the instruction is to stay put," replies the voice on the radio. Dropping his hand away from the receiver, Peter looks out into the busy street.

"Pete, I really think we should stay here, man. They'll call us in if we're needed." Sam doesn't look any happier about the decision to stay than Peter does, he notices, but he also isn't fighting to be there to help.

"If it's Nathan," Peter says bluntly, "then nothing is gonna keep me away, Turner. You got that? Not them, not you. I need to go, orders or not." Without another word, Peter jumps down from the back of the ambulance and into the busy street. He can hear Sam calling after him as he takes off down a side street, before finally taking flight in the hidden confines of an empty alley way; determined to make it there as soon as he can.

xxx

**NOW**

"Claire!" Peter calls again, becoming desperate in his quest to find her. Perhaps he got it wrong and she didn't run upstairs? If that is the case, who knows where she could be now? Not giving up, Peter keeps moving between rooms; searching bedrooms, bathrooms and closets for any signs of his niece.

_Niece..._ Peter thinks. _Not my niece. How could Nathan... _His thoughts are cut short when he finally hears Claire's heartbreaking sobs from through the bathroom door of the last bedroom on the west side of the house. His old bedroom from years ago. He should have thought to check there first.

Bursting through the door with no warning to Claire, Peter immediately slides to his knees and, moving against Claire's futile attempts to push him off, pulls her to his chest. His hand slides into her hair and he holds her close to his body. "Please Claire, it's okay. Please, let me be here. Let me help," he pleads. His hand strokes through her honey blonde hair as he coos low soothing sounds to her. "Please, I'm still here Claire. I'm still here."

Claire's sobbing continues, but her arms snake around Peter's waist. Climbing onto his knee gratefully, she curls herself into a ball on his lap. "Did you... read it?" she asks, her voice pained. Peter nods slowly, but says nothing. He holds Claire in his arms, and waits for her to speak again.

"I thought" she begins, but is cut off by another long sob, "that we were... that things were making some kind of sense in my life."

Peter still doesn't speak, he can't. A single tear rolls down his face, but he makes no sound. Claire doesn't need to see what this is doing to him. She doesn't need to know. First he'll take care of her, then he can worry about himself. He continues to sit in silence, and let's her go on.

"You're my hero, Peter. You are my saviour. You saved my life. You found me, Peter! And we were family. We were supposed to be family. I have never felt closer to anyone in my life. But, it was all a lie. It's not real." Claire inhales sharply, a look of panic crossing her beautiful face, as she tries to work through the confusion in her mind.

Peter shakes his head, finding his voice at last. "No, Claire," he says gruffly. "Nothing has changed, except a stupid blood relation that meant nothing. Noah isn't your Father, but he _is_ your Dad. I'm still me. Please Claire, I know losing Nathan is hard for you, it is for me too. I don't know which way is up. But I know that this makes no difference to how I feel about you."

Claire's sobs reduce slowly as she listens to Peter's voice, her mind a mess of jumbled thoughts. The grief of losing Nathan, another life needlessly taken; and the grief of losing a family that was never really hers to lose. Another Father she doesn't know. How can she comprehend any of this really? For the moment, she realises she doesn't care. Peter is right, he's here. He can take care of her, no matter what. And, she believes that he will, with everything he has.

xxx

**A FEW HOURS LATER**

Fresh out of a warm refreshing shower, Claire walks into the bedroom that was once Peter's and finds him lazing across the bed fidgeting with his phone. Wrapped only in a short cotton towel, she blushes furiously, pulling the thick fluffy material tighter around her body.

"I thought you'd went downstairs!" she squeaks, her face burning as the blood rushes to her cheeks. The two look at one another, eyes locked, until Peter finally looks down at his phone again.

"I thought you'd be at least another few minutes," Peter says casually with a shrug, seemingly less perturbed by this situation than Claire found herself. "I found you some fresh clothes from that luggage you left here when you were supposed to be going to France." Getting up from the bed, he stretches before walking toward the door. "I'll leave you to get dressed, Claire. I'll go through together some lunch, and then we need to talk to my Mom. She's worried."

"Okay," Claire smiles gratefully. The flush to her cheeks is starting to dissipate as Peter glances back momentarily to flash her a crooked smile, then leaves the room. Rolling her eyes, Claire moves to the bed and looks through the clothes left for her. Soft blue jeans and her favourite summer-in-Paris top from the boutique Angela insisted on buying all her 'holiday' clothes from. A good choice, she notes. Her eyes flash to the door where he left only moments before, and she suddenly feels lonely without him near. She would need to say thank you to him for helping her, especially when it had to be hard on him too.

Outside the room, Peter drops back against the wall and sighs. He really had thought she'd be another few minutes. Why the hell didn't he get out of there before...? Coughing embarrassedly, Peter adjusts his trousers to a more comfortable position, and takes a few deep breaths before heading downstairs. _When and how did _that_ happen?_ he thinks to himself, as he tries to stop the thoughts running amok through his mind. _It's a phase. It has to be. My emotions are all over the place._

Realising his futile attempts at reassuring himself aren't working, he sighs. _This... She is going to be trouble_.


	4. Chapter Three

*AN: I decided not to write Nathan's funeral, as I think it would have happened much the same way as it did in Heroes. So this next part begins a few days later (at the wake). Sorry if it seems rushed, I'm trying to juggle entries with college. Thanks for the comments so far, keep them coming! :)

**TWO DAYS LATER**

Claire sits at the breakfast bar in the Petrelli house, quietly listening to the idle chit chat going on in the adjacent room, as well-wishers for the Petrelli's discuss Nathan's "too-short life" and his many achievements. The catering staff are busying themselves around her with the clearing away of the buffet plates, and with serving all manner of drinks for the hundred or so guests who have been coming and going throughout the afternoon affair. Over five-hundred people had turned up to show their respects to Nathan over the last few days; either at the viewing, the funeral, or the wake.

Claire starts as the door swings open and Peter slips into the room, pulling his black tie undone. He looks around the large kitchen and heaves a sigh of relief when he realises that they are alone apart from two staff, grateful to be out of the flurry of people circling the main room. Sitting himself down on the stool next to Claire's, they stay silent for a few appreciative minutes.

Claire doesn't have to ask him what's bothering him to know what it might be; he's been shaking hands with people all day, and listening to them gush over the man that Nathan was. As much as he loved his brother, and wants people to remember him for the great man Peter thought he was, the tiredness and strain of the event is clear in his eyes.

He still cries, Claire knows, but he thinks she can't hear him. He'd asked her to stay with him and his mother at home for a few days, and she was okay with that; but she was finding him shutting her out difficult to bear. He would wait until he was alone to let out all of the anguish he was feeling, and she just didn't know how to make him see that he could confide in her.

There was something else, too. She could sense it, but she just didn't know what it could be. What could be making him so on edge? She wouldn't judge, she _couldn't_. This man, the man she thought of as family, means more to her than anyone else she'd ever known.

"Did Angela say when we might get some time to ourselves?" Claire asks softly, leaning forward slightly over the counter to see Peter's face from behind the long bangs falling over his heartbreakingly sad eyes.

He doesn't look up at her. Instead he just shrugs, "The next hour or so, but I don't think we're expecting anyone else to show up now. We are just waiting for the rest to leave." His hands are fidgeting in his lap, and he keeps his head bowed, not bothering to shift the hair off his face; a habit which has become all too familiar, and was somehow missing to Claire as she watched him then.

"You have done so well Peter," Claire says, attempting to reassure him. Sliding her hand across his lap, she finds his hands and takes it in hers. Peter tenses when her hand first makes contact with his lap, but then he takes her hand in his with a soft grateful sigh. His eyes close and he sits up straight, dropping his head back, his body visibly relaxing.

"I just miss him, ya know?" he says sadly, opening his hazel eyes to gaze up at the ceiling like it might have some answers to the questions that are still milling about in his head. Claire nods silently, and gives his hand a gentle squeeze. Edging a little closer to him on her stool, she lays her head on his shoulder.

"I'm always here for you, Peter," she whispers. "I promise." She looks down, her head still on his shoulder, and watches as he rubs his thumb over the back of her hand. A chill runs up her arm, but she sits perfectly still, mesmerised by his rough fingers as they stroke over her skin.

Peter rests his chin on Claire's honey blonde hair, and inhales a scent of coconut and some kind of berries. Tilting his head, he kisses her hair and smiles into the warmth of her body. "I know you are, Claire. You don't know how much I appreciate you spending this time here with us. With... me."

It hadn't been easy for Peter over these last few days. He had needed Claire close to him, but following the events of the previous days, he had felt he'd needed to keep her at a certain distance too. When he'd watched her walk downstairs ready for the wake that very afternoon, he had felt a warmth he'd never known spread through his entire body. She had looked so beautiful in a little black dress and understated pumps. Her hair fell like golden silk around her shoulders, and he'd wanted to go to her and run his fingers through it. He was torn, so desperately torn, between the need to have her close, and the need to keep her at arm's length.

Now, of all times, it was paramount that he didn't let his feelings overwhelm him; he knew that.

"I'll be here any time you need me." Sitting up, Claire smiles brightly at him. Lifting his head only slightly to let her sit up, Peter is mere inches away from her face when she looks up at him. Lifting his free hand, Peter moves some stray strands of hair off her face, sliding them behind her shoulder; his hand settling on the side of her neck. Seconds feel like minutes as he waits to see if she might flinch away from his touch, and he is surprised when she leans into his fingers, his hand cupping her cheek.

"Claire," Peter starts, clearing his throat. "I think I need to talk to you about something." Like with her hand, Peter's thumb slides across her cheek, and a soft blush rises on her sun-kissed skin.

"You can tell me anything," Claire answers him, her voice barely a whisper. She closes her eyes, and Peter can feel her breath on his face as he moves closer to her. Right, wrong, indifferent... he isn't sure, but somehow, at this moment, he doesn't care. Swallowing thickly as if to swallow down the nerves he is feeling, Peter closes his eyes, his lips millimetres from Claire's.

"Peter!" Angela exclaims, as the kitchen door flies open. Peter moves back so quickly from the stool that he almost loses his balance, Claire's hand in his the only thing stopping him from toppling backward. "Ah, there you are!"

Flushed, Claire turns to Angela and flashes her an uncomfortable smile. Peter looks between his mother and Claire with notable confusion marring his features.

Before either of them can say anything, Angela has crossed the distance between the door and the bar where Peter now stands, and proceeds to start knotting his tie back up. "Some of the guests are leaving. I need you to come and see them off." Claire's eyes fall to the floor in what Peter thinks for a split second might just be disappointment, as he felt it too, and he realises it's better to get this over with than to argue with his mother today of all days.

"There!" Angela says as she flattens his tie down, satisfied with her work. She turns on her heel, and he follows behind her, meeting Claire's eyes on the way out. She flashes him a fake smile in an attempt to reassure him, and waves dismissively.

Peter frowns. _I'm sorry, _he mouths. _I'll be back soon. _The last thing he sees is Claire nodding in agreement as he enters the overfilled main room again.


	5. Chapter Four

**CHAPTER 4**

**TWENTY MINUTES LATER**

Claire's head whips up to glance at the kitchen door. She sighs in weary disappointment, her butterflies settling once again, as she realises it is just another member of the catering staff coming through for more refills of champagne.

_Champagne,_ she scoffs, _as if we have something to celebrate._ She never could understand the premise of a funeral being to "celebrate the life of someone you love", especially if said person was torn from their family and friends at a young age. Her mom used to tell her she was being so pessimistic to think that way, but Claire was... IS... the girl who can't die when everyone else will eventually.

_Sure Mom, cheers to that!_ She lifts her hand in an imaginary toast just as Noah enters the room carrying her coat. He tilts his head slightly but doesn't comment, instead moving straight into good old 'Dad mode'.

"Claire Bear," Noah says softly with the smile she's seen so many times before when he looks at her. His 'I love you more than life itself' smile. Even in the worst of times, she knew, he would have that smile for her. "I think it's time we went home and gave the Petrelli's some time to rest. Maybe get some alone time?"

Claire opens her mouth to object, but quickly closes it again. She found out Nathan wasn't her real father, so as far as her Dad is concerned she has no other reason to be there... except Peter, and she can't even begin to explain if her Dad questions her motivations. Angela had been hinting at some time alone with Peter. Maybe Noah has already spoken to her? If that is the case, an argument would be futile and raise too many questions. Questions she didn't have any answers to.

"Sure Dad," Claire smiles back at him solemnly. Standing, she lets Noah slide her coat over her shoulders, and then allows him to place one hand on her back, guiding her through the half open kitchen door and into the still bustling main room. _Geez, do these people have nothing better to do? Go away and give them some peace!_ Claire thinks as she walks towards the door.

Her eyes wander around the room at the still lingering company once more before settling them on her exit route, then freezes. The butterflies in her stomach turn to bats as she spots him, standing by the doorway. And he is staring at her. Peter is just standing there, staring. He looks shocked, bewildered even. And for a moment, she can't figure out why. Then it comes to her.

She tries to move forward but her feet won't budge, as he strides across the room instead and, as casually as he can, engages Noah in conversation. Holding out his hand to Noah, the two shake hands before Peter clears his throat and speaks.

"You're leaving?" he asks. Noah doesn't falter, but Claire can hear the quiet desperation in Peter's tone. _I don't want to go either! _she screams inside her head, wishing he still had Matt's power and could hear her. _I want to stay with you. I want to... finish?... what we started in the kitchen._ Her cheeks blush a soft pink even just thinking about it, and another few bats starts flying around in her belly.

"I thought you and your Mother could use some one on one family time," Noah says with a gentle shrug of his shoulders. "Now that the... necessities... are almost out of the way."

Peter's eyes roam Claire's face and he catches her slight nod before she smiles up at Noah. "It would be nice to sleep in my own bed for a change too, I think." Noah pulls her close and hugs her, and Peter manages a small, albeit false, smile.

"Sure Claire. Thank you so much for being here these last few days. I dunno how we would have managed without you," he says casually. As Claire steps away from Noah, the two melt into a hug that she wishes could last forever. Who knows how long it would be until she had a reason to see him again? Breathing in his scent one more time, hidden tears stinging her eyes, Claire starts to move back.

"Lunch. Tomorrow. I'll call you," Peter whispers in her ear, and a chill of anticipation rushes through her body. She doesn't answer, aware that Noah didn't catch the exchange, but might notice a response should she give one. _So soon? _The idea made her almost giddy, even though she was still trying to process when her big brother/uncle became more to her than even family.

"I'll see you again soon Peter," Claire smiles. "Take care."

Peter smiles back, genuinely this time, as he catches the meaning in her words. Stepping back to let them pass, he watches as the two leave the room and disappear from sight. Kicking at a piece of imaginary dust on the floor, he curses under his breath and goes looking for his mother. It's time to get rid of the rest of the guests.

xxx

**LATER THAT NIGHT**

Peter's bedroom is so dark that he can't see a thing. He can only hear the movement from across the room. Before he can move to switch on the bedside lamp, his intruder is on the bed, on top of him. His hand grips the stranger's arm and he is ready to throw them off, when desperate lips meet his in a frantic kiss.

_It's her!_ He realises suddenly. The hand on her arm slides over the back of her head and he holds her to him, kissing her deeply. He can smell her now, and he knows without a doubt that it's her. Her hands reach up and her nails curl over his chest, sending a shiver up his spine, as he grabs the collar of her jacket and moves to pull it off.

Within only moments she is naked on the bed beneath him, his hard body aching for her.

xxx

Peter starts, sitting bolt upright in bed; sweat pouring down his naked body. "Christ," he whispers as he falls back onto the pillows, running a hand through his hair before letting his arm fall over his eyes.

They can't. He can't. It wouldn't be right, would it? The age gap, and the family ties. Well, they no longer exist, but he spent so long trying to see her that way; hiding his... attraction. At least he can see her tomorrow, he consoles himself.

Wide awake and aroused, he lays there contemplating his next move.


End file.
